Decay
by Mookie2
Summary: Ranma one-half as seen through the irradiated lens of Fallout.
1. Welcome to the Wasteland

War.  
  
War never changes.  
  
During the months leading up to what would be known as World War III,  
the island nation of Japan took great pains to ensure their survival.  
Diplomats and bribes were dispatched to every world power, espionage  
agents attempted to neutralize the first-strike capabilities of  
neighboring nations, and massive amounts of weapons were imported to  
defend the nation from the unlikely event of a land invasion.  
  
When the bombs fell, Japan was left unscathed. As the flakes of fallout  
enveloped the world, the Japanese congratulated themselves. After the  
world had been cleansed, it seemed that Amaterasu's children were  
protected from the burning storm. They relaxed and prepared for a new  
life, one free of interference from foreign devils.  
  
The peace did not last.  
  
Japan had become too developed to return to the old ideals of  
isolationism. Their cars and trains sat inert, unfueled and unusable.  
Rice rotted in the country while men died of starvation in the cities.  
Electricity was first rationed, then restricted to government use only,  
then nonexistent. With no manufacturing or importing of medicine, the  
simplest of diseases became deadly. Wild animals, irradiated by the  
fallout, walked the streets without fear, spreading disease and killing  
the old and unfit.  
  
And through it all, the men quivered, helpless, unable to survive  
without the technology that they were so famous for. Many wished that  
they, too, had been wiped out in the war. Still more prayed to wake up  
from the nightmare that life had become.  
  
Eventually, something snapped. Thousands of years of cultural  
conditioning had been worn down by eighteen months of hardship. In an  
orgy of violence and destruction, they turned on one another. Like wild  
animals they slaughtered each other, neighbors killing neighbors,  
brothers killing brothers, husbands killing wives. They tore apart  
buildings, streets, and infrastructure, as if to spite the civilization  
that had so damned them. The city of Tokyo burned for five days. The  
streets ran red with blood.  
  
Some, however, were able to escape the riots. Many were able to flee the  
city into the surrounding wasteland. Some banded together into loose  
groups, sharing food and space. They bred. They adapted. They trained.  
They survived.  
  
Sixty years later, the battered survivors emerged from their hovels and  
camps to repopulate the destroyed city of Tokyo. No-one knew just what  
drew them to the city they had sworn off decades ago-- perhaps one band  
began the pilgrimage, and all they met had followed them. Whatever the  
case may be, they came back to the city.  
  
When the survivors arrived, hearty and toughened by the Wasteland, they  
found a ghost town. The toppled buildings were exactly the same as when  
the survivors had left. Nothing had been erected, nothing had been  
repaired. Nobody was left. The only sounds that greeted them upon  
finding the city was the sound of wind whistling through bone. They  
squared their jaws and resolved to stay, and to someday return the city  
to its former glory. With the help of a strong leader, they would  
accomplish this goal within a generation.  
  
But the survivors of Tokyo found themselves unable to unite under a  
single ruling group. Bickering, suspicious, and greedy for the meager  
resources the blasted metropolis held, the survivors toppled and  
replaced every single man, woman or group that claimed to rule. During  
the short span of five years, the city of Tokyo knew over 80 "rulers".  
  
A compromise was eventually reached, after much bloodshed, thinning the  
already small population. The city of Tokyo would be divided into wards,  
as it had been before the Great War. Each ward would be a self-ruled  
city-state, untied to any of the other wards. Soon, boundary lines were  
drawn, defenses were erected, and weapons were once again pointed at  
neighbors, ready to destroy at a moment's notice.  
  
War never changes.  
  
One such ward was the ward of Nerima. Lacking in firearms or armor, the  
inhabitants of Nerima chose to train extensively in the martial arts in  
preparation for invasion by another ward. Far more powerful and agile  
than inhabitants of rival wards, they hope their superior technique and  
discipline can overcome overwhelming firepower.  
  
In the eighteen years Tokyo has existed in its current state, Nerima has  
only known three conflicts with other Wards. The last six years have  
been relatively peaceful.  
  
Life in Nerima Ward is about to change.  
  
***  
  
R A N M A 1 / 2 : D E C A Y  
  
By Paul "Unseen" Durant  
  
***  
  
"Ugh... It feels like I've been strained through someone's bowels."  
  
Saotome Ranma sat up and rubbed his face, to make sure it was still  
there. He had that "pins-and-needles" feeling over his whole body, he  
felt like his bones had turned to water, he couldn't move his legs, and  
he kept seeing little flashes of green light out of the right corner of  
his eye, even when it was closed. All in all, he felt like absolute  
shit.  
  
He fell prone again, most of his energy drained. His head hit the steel  
cot with a a dull "thunk", and he--  
  
Steel cot?  
  
Where WAS he?  
  
Ranma's eyes snapped open and he frantically scanned the room, drinking  
in every detail. It was about five meters square, with a too-high  
ceiling dotted by glaring halogen lights. The walls were dingy,  
unpolished steel marred by several areas where the metal had been ripped  
away to reveal bundles of crusty cable. He appeared elevated at least  
five feet off the ground, though he could not move his head and see for  
certain. The far wall of the room, where his feet currently pointed, had  
a battered and dented sliding door made of the same material as the  
walls and ceiling, and stood next to a filthy window that took up  
roughly one-third of the wall.  
  
It appeared as if he was in a prewar underground facility, much like the  
ones he had trained in and fought through in Manchuria and Korea. If the  
rest of the facility was as dirty and unkempt as this one room, then it  
was either deserted or occupied by a raider gang who didn't care much  
for cleanliness. Ranma doubted he would be able to escape if this was  
indeed a raider camp, for not only could he barely move, but he was in  
so much pain he couldn't throw a simple unanswered punch without  
doubling over, much less engage in combat.  
  
Ranma's analysis of the situation was interrupted when he saw a dim  
shape moving through the filthy observation window, followed by the  
faint beeping of a keycard lock being activated. He tried to ready  
himself for combat, but couldn't so much as lift an arm in his current  
condition. He closed his eyes as he heard the pressure door slide open,  
hoping that the unknown figure would think him asleep and give him more  
time to recover before doing... whatever he or she planned to do to him.  
  
He heard footsteps coming closer to him, smelled the rank odor of  
rotting flesh, felt himself being watched. He could hear the figure  
breathing, a moist, phlegmy sound. With every footstep there was a  
faintly audible "splortch" that drew ever closer to Ranma's prostate  
form. Soon, Ranma could feel the breath on his body, it stank of death  
and rot. For a few seconds, Ranma remained there, inhaling the toxic,  
cancerous odor of the figure's breath. His eyes watered under their  
lids; the stench was unbearable. For a few more seconds he waited for  
the figure to move, speak, or act, but the foetor soon became unbearable  
-- Ranma decided that instead of feigning sleep, he would roll off the  
cot away from the smell's emanator, hit the ground, and pray to every  
kami that he had enough will and pain resistance to move his legs and  
run before he was caught.  
  
He was unable to carry out his hastily-fashioned plan, however, as his  
attempt to roll caused agony to run up and down his left arm and nothing  
else -- no movement, no escape. He gasped in pain, then heard a slight  
chuckle -- the figure must have been amused at the sight. Ranma opened  
his eyes to see who it was, seeing no further point in pretending to be  
asleep.  
  
He was greeted by the most hideous sight he had ever seen in his entire  
life. It had the general form of a man, but was twisted into a hideous  
mockery of it -- Its flesh was marred, misshapen, burnt, rotting, green,  
hideous! Green lumpy skin knotted around the creature's joints and was  
absent on areas of the skull and chest, exposing sickly yellow bone. The  
arms were gaunt and skeletal, liquified flesh dripped from them onto the  
floor below. It wore a tattered and bloodstained smock of some sort, as  
well as frayed pants covered in what appeared to be years' worth of  
filth and grime. The worst aspect by FAR, Ranma thought, were its eyes.  
Its left eye hung from its socket, suspended by a frayed and rotting  
optic nerve. The other eye was bloodshot and splotchy; it appeared to  
have some sort of fungus growing in the whites of its eyes -- they were  
more mauve-yellow than white. The pupil was clouded immensely, and yet  
the lone functioning eye was looking directly at him as the creature  
began to smile, lips cracking to reveal a row of broken teeth and a  
mouth full of metal and leather.  
  
Ranma vomited at the sight of it, and had passed out from pain and  
terror before the expectoration hit his chest.  
Gradually and groggily, Ranma came to. The pain had subsided to the  
point where he could move without wincing, and he felt as if he had at  
least SOME control over his body. He lifted his head -- noting that he  
was now situated in a chair instead of a cot -- to analyze his  
surroundings once more, praying that the hideous creature wasn't nearby.  
He was bound to the chair by crude knots on his wrists and ankles, as he  
soon discovered, and though sloppily made they were far too tight for  
his comfort. The room he was in showed a great deal more maintenance  
than the last; the walls were polished to a shimmering surface and there  
were hardly any missing panels. He couldn't see the entrance, it must be  
behind him -- he dared not entertain the possibility there WAS no  
entrance -- but he could see that his clothes had been removed in favor  
of a large, voluminous labcoat and a threadbare blanket. His original  
clothes lay at his feet; he certainly recognized his leather jacket with  
one sleeve missing from a fight with an angry Deathclaw, but he didn't  
remember vomiting on it. There were no weapons in sight, if he was to  
survive, he would need to escape, get armed, and find his father -- if  
indeed his father was alive. He struggled with his bonds, causing the  
chair to rotate slightly, but after three minutes of exertion and wrist  
pain, he was no closer to escaping the ropes.  
  
From behind him, he heard a -Whissh- noise, followed by a voice like a  
prolonged bullfrog's croak.  
  
"Well, hello, Mary Sunshine. Had enough beauty rest by now?" Ranma  
screamed involuntarily at the voice of the interloper. He was vaguely  
aware that he really shouldn't be this afraid, that he wasn't quite  
himself, but that was mostly eclipsed by the feeling that he was going  
to die here.  
  
He felt a hand near his shoulder, warm, wet, and disgusting. The chair  
he was in spun a hundred-eighty degrees, revealing the speaker. Ranma  
screamed again, louder, throatier. He saw the same creature as before --  
no, not the same, a different one, with its own signs and methods of  
decay. It crossed its skeletal, ghastly arms in a pose that might have  
been considered impatience. Its filthy maw opened and it said, in a  
quite matter-of-fact tone, "Oh, for the love of... Didn't we already do  
this?"  
  
The creature made a gesture of exasperation, turned around, tapped a key  
on the door behind it, and walked out as the door slid open. It was when  
the door slid back closed that Ranma screamed for a third time, the  
longest and loudest he'd bellowed in his entire life.  
  
The continued action of the door-panel, over the years, had both served  
to wear away on the door and polish it, resulting in a portal so  
flawless and shined that it could be used as a mirror. Ranma saw within  
it his reflection, as clear as if in a reflecting pool. In it he saw  
himself altered -- his hair, for one, had become blood-red, his face had  
gone from that of a scarred man to that of a pristine Chinese woman, and  
worst of all, the lab coat had flopped open to reveal a breast erupting  
from his chest, and hinted at the presence of its sister.  
  
His eyes went wide with panic. He could barely comprehend -- it wasn't  
-- How did this HAPPEN? No doubt it was the work of the ghoulish  
creature he had seen before, but why would it do such a thing -- and  
more importantly, HOW? If it was skilled or powerful enough to do THIS  
to his body, why was it incapable of repairing itself? Why didn't Ranma  
remember any of this happening? Where was this place? Why, who, what,  
how, why, why, why...  
  
The questioned drizzled through Ranma's mind like a cold stream, dulling  
in intensity and urgency as his panic gave way to an icy affinity for  
combat. The questions would wait. First, he must escape, find his  
father, and slay his captor. All other concerns were tertiary.  
  
***  
  
Saotome Genma, warrior, scholar, vagabond, founder of the Saotome School  
of Anything-Goes Martial Arts, and father of the trans-migrated martial  
artist who at this moment was formulating a plan to escape captivity,  
was not a man who jumped to conclusions. He recognized that the barren  
Wastelands held far more than he could ever hope to see, and was aware  
that for every inexplicable phenomena he could experience, there was  
most certainly a perfectly rational and logical explanation. He was  
however hard-pressed to find one to explain the fact that he possessed  
black and white fur, three-inch claws instead of fingers, and a bizzare  
craving for plant life. He told himself that this unknown but existant  
explanation would also tell him why he was co-operating as two creatures  
who resembled green, molten humans took bits of his blood, skin, and  
hair and compared it with some obscure data displayed on an aging  
cathode ray tube built into the wall of his perfectly rational, normal,  
and explicable polished steel cell.  
  
There had to be an explanation. Saotome Genma just wasn't sure he wanted  
to hear it.  
  
He had felt sundering pain when he had first awakened in this state, but  
that had mercifully subsided. Soon after awakening, the first of these  
cratures had met him, communicating in halting and unskilled Japanese.  
Genma did not remember the exact words of the conversation -- he was  
still groggy and in quite a lot of pain at that time -- but the jist of  
it was that the decaying ghoulish creature had been watching over Genma  
for more time than it had wanted to do so, and was relieved that his  
custodial duties were now at an end. He made a passing reference to  
another "patient" -- Genma wondered if it was perhaps his son.  
Unfortunately, he had not been able to respond to the ghoul's monologue,  
as he found himself incapable of vocalization, merely one of many  
bizzare afflictions that he wanted an explanation for.  
  
Without conversation, the creature had evidently become bored, and left.  
This allowed Genma some time to ruminate on his condition, none of which  
was productive in any way. After fruitlessly pondering what had stricken  
him for the fourteenth time, Genma had resigned himself to the fact of  
his new form, and had immediately elected to take a nap. He was awakened  
by the two creatures now present and beginning their testing.  
  
Genma, with inadept eyes he had not yet grown accustomed to, tried to  
make out what the creatures were observing on the monitor and regarding  
with such disdain. It was a fruitless effort, since Genma would not have  
been able to read the language even if his eyes were working normally,  
but he would rather occupy himself with futility then sit there  
fretting.  
  
After some time had passed -- Genma couldn't be sure how long -- the  
creatures whispered to one another, turned in unison, and regarded him.  
"You are a very lucky man", the one on the right said in much more adept  
Japanese than the first creature he had seen, "to have survived an  
incident such as this. To be honest, we had no idea what the effects on  
you would be. Personally, I didn't think you'd even regain  
consciousness."  
  
"Don't try to speak, sir," said the other. "I know you must be confused,  
but for now you just have to cooperate. You'll be able to ask all the  
questions you want once we fix you up."  
  
The first nodded assent and resumed speaking. "Your system has endured  
quite a bit of shock. You might want to refrain from physical activity  
for -- but I'm getting ahead of myself. First..." he tapped a button  
near the monitor and spoke into it. "Miss Heng, could you please bring  
in a pot of boiling water for our friend here?"  
  
If he had anything else to say, it was cut off by the sound of the  
pressure door opening to reveal a short, red-haired woman, wearing a  
familiar leather jacket and toting what looked to be a shiv made of  
wall-paneling. The creature began to say something in a language Genma  
couldn't identify -- then the woman charged and attacked, plowing her  
shoulder into its gut while plunging the shiv into its knee.  
  
The first creatue gurgled a cry of pain as its leg buckled and it  
collapsed to the floor. The second, in panic, swung a wild punch at the  
female assailant. The woman efortlessly pivoted out of the way of the  
attack, and while the creature's arm was extended, brought the base of  
her palm up into the crature's elbow while at the same time slamming  
down on it with her wrist. With a sickening *SNAP* the limb bent in ways  
a limb was never meant to do, and the creature howled an indistinct cry  
of pain and went down, joining its bretheren in the floor's cold steel  
embrace.  
  
Having incapacitated both her opponents in the span of seconds, the  
woman whirled to face Genma, her body loose as if prepared for an  
attack. She stared at Genma, obviously unsure as to whether or not he  
posed a threat. Genma, to his credit, tried to remain calm and act as  
inconspicuous as an ex-human panda hundreds of feet below the surface of  
the Earth in a pre-war medical facility could be. This effort was  
hampered somewhat by the gnawing suspicion about the woman Genma felt  
growing in his gut.  
  
After staring at the marsupial for a few moments, the woman obviously  
deemed it to not be a threat, and returned to the matter of the two  
ghouls whimpering in the fetal position at her feet. The one whom she  
had attacked first seemed most coherent, he was actually cursing, as  
opposed to the other who could only vocalize grunts and moans. She  
slipped her foot under the creature's chest and snapped it upwards,  
throwing the skeletal green body upwards into position for her to grab  
it by the neck and hoist its face to eye level.  
  
"Start talking," she spat, and delivered a savage punch to the  
creature's stomach.  
  
The creature wheezed, "What do you-- about what?"  
  
"I think you know damn well about what!" the woman shouted, before  
tightening her grip on its neck and flinging it into the wall.  
  
Though still wheezing and obviously stunned, the creature managed to  
respond. "I can't, I didn't do anything... if you'd just let me  
explain..."  
  
The woman stalked toward the prone ghoul, shoulders arched, head angled  
toward her prey, eyes betraying an animal fury. "If you didn't do  
anything, then how do you explain this?" She tugged at the jacket she  
wore -- black leather with one arm torn off, Genma now noticed -- to  
reveal her naked chest. "I don't care what your explanation is, or how  
you did it, or even IF you did it, all I want is for you to UN-do it!"  
The distance between her and it closed, she stomped on the creature's  
ribs. Genma got the feeling the woman cared less about an un-doing than  
she cared about hurting the creature.  
  
The ghoul barked a cry of pain, then began to beg. "Please, please," it  
gasped, "just stop and I'll be able to help you, if only you'll --"  
  
"Freeze right there!" came the cry from across the room, causing both  
Genma and the woman to turn and face the direction of the noise. There  
stood the second ghoul, left arm hanging limp at an odd angle, hunched  
over in pain, and leaning on a wall for support -- clutching in his good  
hand a magneto-laser pistol, aimed at the woman's head. A small panel in  
the wall hung open, an unnoticed emergency locker from which the ghoul  
had culled the weapon. "Now I want you to put your hands in the air --  
slowly -- and step away from Doctor Chi." The woman bristled. Neither  
party seemed to acknowledge Genma's presence, and he pondered if this  
was something to be thankful for.  
  
The woman obliged, slowly raising her hands aloft and taking a step away  
from the prone ghoul. No longer under attack, the ghoul tried to regain  
its footing -- but found it too painful and just decided to lay there  
and moan. For a few seconds the scene stood still, save for the shaking  
of the ghoul's pistol in its clumsy hand.  
  
Then in a flash, the woman howled and propelled herself forward.  
Expecting to be charged, the ghoul panicked and fired in front of him --  
missing entirely, as the woman had leapt to the right before he had even  
put pressure on the trigger. Missing even the tail end of the woman's  
crimson pigtail, the searing bolt of coherent light struck the wall of  
the chamber, melting a patch of metal to reveal the wiring behind it.  
The ghoul moaned as he heard the *frrrzzzzZZZZZZT* of the pistol drawing  
power from its cell; he knew he wouldn't get a second shot.  
  
He didn't even see where the attack came from when his legs were swept  
from under him, but as he fell he saw all too clearly the woman  
crouching beneath him, her fist rising to meet his chin. The ghoul's  
frail body was propelled upward as they connected, his head nearly  
separated from his shoulders. The instant she hit, the woman skidded  
backwards upon the steel floor, rising as she did so, performing a wide  
roundhouse kick. As the creature slid down the wall, green flesh peeling  
off in streaks upon its shiny surface, the woman's foot met his chest.  
She kept her leg extended, pinning the creature to the wall.  
  
Genma did not need this show of combat prowess and savagery to tell him  
who he saw fighting (and destroying) the two ghouls. He knew quite well,  
but preferred not to believe himself. After all, there was a slim  
possibility he was wrong... but he doubted it.  
  
The woman glared at her captive prey and spat. "You wanna play hero  
again, huh? You want me to kill you instead of your friend over there?"  
As the creature extended his good arm to shoot, the woman snatched the  
pistol from him effortlessly, without even breaking the flow of her  
speech. "I can't tell either of you apart. Could be, YOU'RE the one who  
did this to me. Could be, I should have been killing YOU."  
  
The pressure door once again slid open with the now-menacing "hiss". Not  
even looking toward the sound, the pinned ghoul howled, "Throw it on  
her! NOW!"  
  
From the doorway came flying a pot's worth of scalding water. The woman  
dropped her leg and spun to face the assailant, but her position was too  
awkward and she found she could not dodge in time. Struck by the spray,  
she bellowed and collapsed, writhing as if bathed in acid, voice  
ululating in a way Genma doubted normal human vocal cords could create.  
  
***  
  
Ranka saw the early days, as he often did when he was unconscious. The  
scene had probably played behind Ranma's eyelids a thousand times or  
more -- just about a decade ago, when his father had taken him on a boat  
into Manchuria, and broken his arm. Genma thought it would teach Ranma a  
valuable lesson best imparted early. Ranma did not echo the sentiment.  
  
"What the flapping fuck did you do that for, Pops?' he howled, once the  
animal cries of pain had passed his lips.  
  
"You let me," came Genma's deadpan reply.  
  
Ranma looked about to speak, but just bit his lip and held back another  
cry of pain. His right arm dangled uselessly at his side. "Damn it,  
Pops, how am I supposed to fight if I can't use my right arm?"  
  
"Learn to fight with your left. I think you'd best do so quickly," Genma  
replied, before effortlessly flipping forward and landing a hard kick to  
Ranma's stomach. Genma could have broken both of the boy's legs as well,  
but that would be counterproductive. Ranma took the hit without so much  
as an attempt as a block, and fell over in a heap, landing on his arm  
and provoking a new outburst of howling.  
  
Genma broke off a stick of bamboo from the shoots around him with a  
little effort, the broke another and tossed it to his son. "Are you a  
man, or are you a mewling gecko pup? Get up and fight me, you  
pantywaist!" He brought the stick down, hard, on the boy's broken arm.  
He screamed, but not so much this time.  
  
"What's wrong with you, Pops? You said we were going for a training  
trip, not a torture session!"  
  
"Less talking, more fighting." Genma slammed him again, this time across  
his face. The boy yelped. "And if you think I'll show pity or remorse,  
you're wrong. In fact, I won't even give you a splint until you've  
managed to hit me. Better get to fighting, son!" Genma swung again, this  
time for the chest, only to find his strike blocked by the boy's staff,  
clumsily held upright to guard himself. Genma knew it would be easy to  
throw the staff from his hands with another strike or to simply strike  
again before the boy could block, but that would be too hard on a boy of  
six.  
  
Besides, he was already learning.  
  
***  
  
As Ranma faded into the past, Ryoga Hibiki was concerned only with the   
present. He checked the shells in his Casull .45 revolver one last  
time, as if the sheer joy emanating from him might have caused the ammo  
to vanish from existence. He then looked at the tracks again, to assure  
himself once more that it was not some hallucination.  
  
Sure enough, they were there -- one set of tracks from a barefoot  
heavyset man in his forties, one from a slim teenaged boy wearing two  
differently-sized shoes. They led into the underground bunker, and they  
did not come back out again. They were fresh in the mud, no more than a  
day old. The boy and his father were probably still in there.  
  
After three years of chasing them and seven years of being lost in the  
radioactive wilderness, after countless times he had stumbled upon a  
three-week old campfire or a months-forgotten Nuka-Cola bottle, Ryoga  
had found them.  
  
"You've made my life hell, Saotome," Ryoga said to himself, "and now,  
finally, I will have my revenge."  
  
He thumbed back the hammer of his revolver and dashed into the shining  
steel bunker with a madman's grin painted across his face.  
  
---  
  
Ranma 1/2 and all related characters and indica are copyright to Rumiko  
Takahashi.  
Fallout, its setting, and all related indica are copyright to Interplay. 


	2. Unusual Science

Dr. Ren sat at his old desk, clutching a red coffee mug bearing the symbol of the Chinese Communist party under a grimy, greenish-brown layer of sloughed off flesh. Most people from the time before would have been revolted by the prospect of drinking 75-year-old instant coffee out of a mug ensconced in your own dead irradiated flesh, but this had been the norm for Dr. Ren for so long that he barely even noticed it. In fact, he noted to himself with more than a little shock, he'd become so accustomed to seeing the molten faces of his colleagues that when he first saw the two men he was repulsed by their smooth skin and bronzed faces. He knew the human mind could adapt to anything -- Dr. Xiao had done her graduate thesis on the fact -- but it was still creepy to feel it happen to yourself.  
  
Dr. Ren placed his coffee mug on his desk. Still 'his', even though everthing around it had been scavenged for parts or materials. His home which had outlived the government which had commisioned it. You had to hold onto things like that. It helped him remember he was a man inside this irradiated husk. He stared into the drink, slowly watching a small gray sliver of his lip spiral and dissolve.   
  
He didn't know how long he'd been looking at that whorl of decay when he heard the moist, phlegmy noise of someone clearing his throat. He looked up, startled, to see Dr. Xiao standing in the doorway watching him. He forced himself to notice her features, if only to prevent himself from becoming any more accustomed to her. The irregular patches of hair dotting her skull, the exposed ribs on her lower chest, the fact that one of her eyes hung out of its socket, the leather strap holding her jaw on... he had to see it every time, he resolved. He didn't want to think it was normal any more. When he realized he was staring, he spoke.  
  
"How long have you been waiting, Xiao?"  
  
"Not long, Comrade. Got some news for you, but it can wait."  
  
"No, no, go ahead." Ren thought of the malformed, lumpy cells dissolving in the Folger's Instant French Vanilla, thought of the heat rupturing their membranes and ending their mockery of biology. "I wasn't thirsty anyway. What's the latest news on our patients?"  
  
"Doing well, both of them have restored to their original forms. The one who became the panda had some internal bleeding upon transformation, nothing too serious. The one who became Doct... the younger one had no physical problems. Neither of them remember about the last hour before being changed, but we knew that was going to happen. But, ah, that wasn't what I came here to tell you."  
  
"Oh?" Ren tried to arch an eyebrow, even though he had lost them long ago.  
  
"It seems they've attracted a friend. Heng has the security monitors working, you should probably just see for yourself."  
  
***  
  
Dr. Heng was buried in wires and cabling when Dr. Ren came into the disused, dusty security station, and all he did see was her spindly, green arm emerging from the mass of wires to wave at him.  
  
"Sorry about the mess, Comrade, but it took some jury-rigging to get the old security system running. Cameras 308 to 315 still aren't working, I'm checking that out right now in case our guest wanders over there." She pointed to a black-and-white monitor in the bank of controls and terminals. "Anyway, you can look for yourself."  
  
Ren did, standing over the controls rather than sit and lose the skin from his back when he got up. There he was, the third non-irradiated human to appear here in 2 days, obviously looking for someone rather than something. The man resembled the first two superficially -- average height, well-toned but not excessively large muscles, clothing a hodgepodge of various uniforms, animal skins, and strips of leather. This one had a bandanna keeping the hair out of his eyes, making him resemble some kind of post-nuclear karate warrior. He had a gun in his left hand, a revolver that peeked around every corner before he did. There was something about him... The first two that had come here were strong. He was strong... and also somehow fierce. Ren could see it in the few glimpses he got of the man's eyes. He was dangerous.   
  
"So," Ren asked, "Does he know we're here?"  
  
"Not yet. He hasn't seemed to notice the camera, but he did try and disable the sentry guns when he came in. After he notice we'd drained off the power cells, he stopped bothering -- probably thought they ran out on their own. Do we tell our guests about him?"  
  
Ren didn't want to, but didn't see any other choice. Everyone at the facility was issued a magneto-laser pistol, but that was decades ago -- most of them didn't work, and those that did couldn't very well be fired with any accuracy by the scientists here. No, it seemed that if the newcomer had ill intent -- and those eyes told Ren all he needed to know about THAT -- then their unwitting experiments would have to serve as their defense.   
  
"How long, do you think, until he finds the elevator down to Level 3?"  
  
"Can't say. He's looking, but he keeps backtracking on himself and skipping rooms. He doesn't seem to have any sort of system for searching -- but he'll find it eventually. Twenty minutes?"  
  
"I'm going to go talk with our patients. Call me when he reaches the elevator."  
  
***  
  
The panda's name was Saotome Genma, and his son was Satome Ranma. Ren decided to interview them seperately -- partly in the interests of not cross-contaminating the "specimens"'s recall of events, mostly because he was afraid they might gang up on him if they were both in the room with him. Not that it mattered, one of them was enough to break him like a pencil if they so wanted. That's why he chose to interview Genma in the dining hall: it was large enough he might be able to run away if things turned sour.  
  
Genma sat across the table from him, staring at the white faux-wood of the table, never looking up -- and why would he want to, if all he saw was some kind of ghoul? He seemed pretty shocked, but also seemed to be recovering. This was good, the faster he accepted facts the faster he could move on, and the less chance he'd decide to take out vengeance.  
  
"Last thing I remember... I was just sitting in a little room on a table, wondering why my hands were claws and my arms were covered in fur. Seems kind of like a dream, at least it would if I wasn't still sitting in here with a headache and, apparently, blood sloshing around on my insides. Before that, I was out in the jungle, cleaning up our campsite so we couldn't be tracked. So... I'm dying to know what's going on here, if you'd be so kind?"  
  
Dr. Ren paused, wondering what was the best way to phrase it.  
  
"There was... an accident. You and your son came here, we never found out why, but you did. There were some tanks here, from before the war... we don't know how or why, but you ruptured two of them. We heard the tanks blow, and when we found you..."  
  
"...I was a fucking panda?" Genma looked up and met Ren's eyes, surprising him. "Truth is stranger than fiction, ain't it?"  
  
Both men laughed, though neither of them should have.  
  
"So, what was in the tanks?"  
  
"Before the war, this was a research station -- Jusenkyo Biological Research Facility. That was one of our projects. The FEV."  
  
Genma pulled a stick of unidentifiable meat from his belt and gnawed on it. "Well, I'd say your project worked pretty well. You get a raise?"  
  
Ren laughed again. He didn't know if Genma was acting like this because he was in denial or because he had already gotten over the fact he changed into a panda, but either way was better than the way his son had reacted. "No, no, in the Glorious People's Republic of China, nobody needs a raise because everyone is equal. Besides, it didn't do what it was supposed to, and it fook us 537 tries to even get that far."  
  
Genma arced an eyebrow. "People's Republic of the what now?"  
  
Ren was confused, then realized that in the 80 or so years since China ceased to exist, records of it probably had been lost as well. Being as he spoke with a Japanese accent, he probably wasn't from China -- and wouldn't know about its prewar history. Ren decided to give him the short version. "It's what this country was called, back before the war. Anyway, the FEV--"  
  
"Wait wait wait. You were alive before the war?" Genma studied Ren's face. "Yeah, yeah you look about that old."  
  
If Ren still had noticeable capillaries in his face, he would have been blushing with embarassment. "It was something about all the radiation that made us... like this. Falling apart, but growing back just about anything we lose."  
  
Genma nodded. "Truth is stranger than fiction."   
  
"Anyway, the FEV had some very strange effects in its last formulation. We were trying to emulate something the Americans had," here Genma cocked an eyebrow, and Ren answered his question before he could ask it, "they were another country from before the war, across the ocean. All you need know of them is that they were very powerful and we feared them. The Americans had a substance that greatly enhanced the physical abilities of anyone injected with it, and since we thought they might attack us, we wanted some as well. We couldn't get it right."  
  
"So instead you got Automatic Panda Juice."  
  
"Yes, well, in a way. The FEV didn't seem to do anything to the first lab animals we exposed it to, and we would have given up on it until a lab accident made us realize that it wasn't inactive, it was *calibrating* itself. Whatever animal we exposed to it would transform into whatever the FEV was first exposed to. It seemed to work with anything -- people, goldfish, rats... pandas. We made a lot of batches, calibrated to anything we could get our hands on. We stored them in the tank room you ran across. Then the bombs fell, and there wasn't any reason to open the tanks any more."  
  
Genma nodded. "And you thought that nobody would come down here again, so you didn't bother to destroy them." Ren nodded. "But, if it worked so well, why didn't you use it on yourselves instead of becoming... well, THAT."  
  
The question took Ren off guard; it was a perfectly logical one, but he hadn't thought about it in so long that the possibility of it being asked had never crossed his mind. "Uh, it, uh, the FEV doesn't work on us, because our DNA is too, uh, corrupted." It was a lie -- Ren suspected Genma would kill him if he knew the truth -- but the man seemed to accept it.   
  
"Well, that only leaves one question, doesn't it? How did I turn back?"  
  
The science of such an answer would be lost on him -- in fact, Ren didn't fully understand it himself, as it seemed a physical impossibility -- so he opted for the short answer. "Heat. Cold to turn into a panda again. You'll usually need water to get the right heat transfer, but if the temperature's extreme enough, or if there's significant background radiation, you won't need it." He paused, then added, "I wouldn't change too often. You might get internal bleeding, and you'll forget everything that happened an hour before the change. We... didn't have time to fix that."  
  
"Well, Doctor," Genma said as he rose from his seat, "it's been surreal talking to you, but me and my kid have got to hit the road. I'm supposed to be training the little tyke, and he's not learning much in here. So, if you would be so kind as to show me the exit, we will go on our way."  
  
"Wait! Don't go yet. We need your help."  
  
"And I don't need to give it, but go ahead anyway."  
  
"There was -- you were followed. Someone else is in the facility right now, someone with a gun, and I doubt he means anyone in here well. We can't fight him off, but if you can -- we can't help you with the FEV here, but can lead you to someone who can."  
  
Genma paused, thought. "Hibiki, no doubt. He's after me and the kid, but God knows what he might do to all of you. I'd have to fight him sooner or later... all right, lead me to him."  
  
***  
  
Ryoga Hibiki knelt and drew his pistol as soon as he heard footsteps. He was certain the Saotomes were in here, and if the sound wasn't one of them, it was someone who could lead him to them. He shuffled as silently as he could to a doorway, crouching on the other side and peeking out just enough to see whoever was coming.   
  
Genma muttered to himself as he stalked through the too-shiny metal corridors, looking for the Hibiki kid. Coward, the boy was, a coward and stupid, striking out at him because the real target of his hate was too dangerous, never taking the hint to give up no matter how many times he was beaten. Luck and luck alone had kept him alive so far, but soon that luck was going to run out, and Genma would be quite satisfied when it did.   
  
Ryoga heard "little shit-for-brains" from the far end of the room and knew who it was in an instant; that coarse, crass voice could come from no other man. He ducked out of the doorway and brought the revolver to bear, firing six shots with such speed they seemed to blur together into a single burst.  
  
Genma heard the hammer of the pistol being drawn back, and knew he'd found his target. Time slowed as he entered a battle-fugue, giving him just enough time to leap out of the path of Hibiki's attack. What Hibiki had in speed, he paid for in accuracy, and Genma could hear the KA-TANG-KA-TANG-KA-TANG of the bullets impacting with the metal wall mere millimeters away from his receding feet. He hit the floor and rolled, coming up just in time to block a kick with his forearm. The blow came like a swift hammer, Genma gritted his teeth as the vibration from the impact ran up and down his forearm, disabling it for a few precious seconds. Before the nerves in his arm even registered that Ryoga's leg was no longer touching him, he'd already used the same leg to throw two snap kicks at Genma's face. The first went high on its own, and Genma slid under the second as he struck at Hibiki's other knee.  
  
Genma's blow knocked Ryoga off-balance, sending him to the ground, but it failed to blow out the knee as Genma had intended it to. Even in his prime, Genma was nowhere near as fast as Ryoga was now -- he wondered if his speed was natural or if the boy had trained to be so, and if so, if that training could be applied to his son as well -- so instead of pressing the attack from this disadvantageous position, Genma got to his feet, standing in a loose, relaxed non-stance, waiting for Ryoga to strike.  
  
Ryoga took to his feet, wiping the sweat from his brow and gritting his teeth. The instant he was fully on his feet, he lunged. He didn't size Genma up, didn't consider the situation, he simply dove for his foe's gut with the speed of a striking mongoose. Genma, expression still one of casual disinterest, took the blow to the gut, disregarding the sharp pain of the blood in his stomach stirred up by Ryoga's fist, then grabbed the striking hand as it pulled back, yanked it over his shoulder, and brought his fist to meet Ryoga's solar plexus as it came toward him. Ryoga's eyes went glassy, head went slack, breath came out of him in a gust and rushed into Genma's face; it stank of burned meat and blood. With Ryoga stunned, Genma used his free arm to pepper the kid's gut with punches, one strike after another landing on the soft, undefended flesh of his belly. Ryoga's face looked like he would be grunting in pain, but he lacked the breath to make the sound.   
  
Genma brought his knee up to strike Hibiki's groin -- something sure to take him out of the fight no matter his pain tolerance -- but he found too late that the boy had already regained his wind. He saw the glimmer of a smile cross Ryoga's face, and the glass in his eyes become triumphant malice, but even in his battle-trance he was too slow to counteract what came next. Genma's foot was kicked to the side, this time throwing Genma himself off-balance. The old man brought up his arms to block as he spun, but he seemed to be moving in slow motion, and Ryoga's fists soon found purchase in his chest, gut, face, neck. Each muted "thud" of knuckles against skin came so quickly they seemed to flow together into a dull hum. Each time Ryoga brough back his fist to hit again, a thin streamer of blood came with it.  
  
/Let him trick me. Getting old. Stupid. Can't let him do it again./ thought Genma as Ryoga struck him again and again, his body slowly falling to the ground as the boy pummeled it faster than Genma's eyes could track. It hurt, and a great deal at that, but Genma had learned long ago that knowing you hurt and actually feeling the pain were things that could be separated. The older man crashed to the ground, finally, and Ryoga stopped punching him long enough to kick him once, then spit on him. Genma didn't move, even as the warm, stickly blob landed on his face. 


	3. On The Road Again

Ryoga stood triumphantly over Genma's prone form. "Because of the  
Saotomes, I have seen Hell. Now, I get to send one of them there."  
  
Genma didn't move.  
  
Ryoga crouched and leaned in close. "I bet you thought you could run  
forever, didn't you? I bet you thought you'd get off."  
  
Genma didn't move.  
  
"No... I bet you knew that I would beat you. Deep down, I bet you did.  
That's why you were running. Running like all the devils of Hell were at  
your feet. You were scared of me. You were a coward."  
  
Genma didn't move.  
  
"Well now, it's all over. I'm going to put you out of my misery. Then,  
I'm going to find your son, and I'm going to kill him, too. Two rounds  
to the back of the head. Nice and clean. Not like you." Ryoga started to  
reach for the rusty scalpel he kept in a pouch on his belt.  
  
Genma made his move.  
  
Ryoga's next words would have been "you, I'm going to make you suffer",  
but he never got the chance. Rising from the floor like an angered  
cobra, the base of Genma's hand collided with Ryoga's nose. Caught off  
guard, thinking more of peeling off Genma's skin one layer at a time  
than of the possibility the older fighter was not down for the count,  
Ryoga took the full brunt of the attack, sending cartilage flattened  
into his skull and a hot spray outward. Genma's face, clothes, fingers  
were spattered in blood.  
  
Genma rolled sideways, lifting his body off of his other arm, but Ryoga  
was on his feet and clutching the bloody geyser in the center of his  
face. Genma rose, slowly, knowing that the combination of the bleeding  
and the humilitation meant that Ryoga wasn't about to come close again.  
"Saotome Genma never runs from a fight. NEVER." He spat out a mixture of  
blood and saliva. "Can Ryoga say the same of himself?"  
  
Ryoga tried to sound tough, but couldn't manage it with blood filling  
his sinuses. "Dis isn't ober, Saotobe!"  
  
Genma sighed. "It never is, with you."  
  
Then Ryoga was gone, leaving a trail of small red spatters on the floors  
of the facility. Genma didn't bother to give chase; he knew from  
previous encounters that if Ryoga didn't want to be caught, no force on  
Heaven or Earth could catch up with him. He waited at the elevator for a  
few minutes, to make sure the boy wouldn't double back, then went down  
to speak with Dr. Ren.

Once out of Jusenkyo and following the directions given to him by the  
ghoulish doctor, it would be three weeks before the Saotomes would see  
another human being, and it would not be on friendly terms. Genma knew  
they were being followed for about a week before their trail was bold  
enough to step forward; Ranma had only noticed it three days prior. It  
wasn't Ryoga, he knew that much, for he gave too much of his position  
away and hesitated far, far too long in the attack.  
  
They had encountered highwaymen before, and always dispatched them with  
ease, partially due to their superiority in combat and partially because  
any raiders with the skills and weaponry to defeat them wouldn't bother  
with such obvious destitutes. No, when the Saotomes were attacked, it  
was usually by the mad, the desperate, or both, and the case was the  
same this time.  
  
Genma knew the attack was coming, probably before the attacker did, but  
purposely did nothing; this was, after all, a training trip for his  
son's benefit, and sons did not become stronger by having their fathers  
do things for them.  
  
The attack came from above, a young man leaping from the canopy of trees  
holding a crude spear. Ranma had him disarmed, flat on his back, and  
with the shaft of his weapon over the attacker's neck in less time than  
it would have taken him to fall out of the tree unhindered. Genma was  
duly impressed at his son's prowess.  
  
"Very nice, boy." Ranma nodded, then stepped off the attacker's chest to  
allow Genma room to deal with him. Genma grabbed both ends of the spear  
-- not much more than a stick with a scrap of metal embedded in one  
side, he noticed -- and looked into the attacker's eyes. He was no more  
than a child, even younger than Ranma was, and as with all these cases,  
Genma thought it his duty to scare him a little. More than a little.  
  
"Just what did you think you were doing, kid?" Genma asked, lifting up  
on the spear just enough for enough air to pass that the kid could  
answer.  
  
"I--" he gasped, "-- I heard some travelers were coming through the  
forest, and, and I thought you were merchants! Oh God, if I'd have  
known it was you, I wouldn't have, I wouldn't have, oh God please don't  
kill me, please urk"  
  
Genma pressed down, tired of the boy's simpering. "Don't try to flatter  
me. You don't know who I am. You didn't care, either, until my son laid  
you out. What's your name, boy?" Again, he lifted the shaft.  
  
"Please, please don't kill me, I'm sorry, I'm too young urk"  
  
Genma pushed down again. "Tell me your name, and don't tell me anything  
else. Do you understand?" He lifted again.  
  
The kid responded, as calmly as he could, though stuttering on the verge  
of tears. "My name is T-tuh-Taro, muh-mister--"  
  
"NO!" Genma howled. "YOUR NAME IS DOGSHIT! YOUR NAME IS GOD-DAMN FUCKING DOGSHIT, NOW TELL ME YOUR FUCKING NAME BEFORE I RIP YOU OPEN LIKE A FUCKING FISH!"  
  
"muh-my name is duh-duh-duh-Dogshit, sir!"  
  
"That's right, Dogshit! Now, if I let you go, what are you going to do?"  
"Dogshit" started to answer, but Genma cut him off. "I'm going to tell  
you what you're going to do. First, I am going to lift up your weapona  
and allow you to get up onto your hands and knees. If you try to run  
away from me, I am going to kill you. Second, you are going to crawl  
over to the campfire. You're not going to stand up, because you don't  
have the right to stand up. Only real men can stand tall. You're going  
to crawl on your hands and knees like a dog. Third, you are going to  
take a handful of that -- " Genma gestures to the ashes in the ring of  
stones that marked where their fire had been -- "and you are going to  
eat it. Do you know why you're going to eat it, Dogshit?"  
  
Dogshit slowly shook his head, his eyes as wide as the moon and staring  
up in nameless terror.  
  
"I'm going to teach you a lesson, Dogshit. Because see, Dogshit, I like  
you. I wanna help you out. And if you keep trying stupid shit like this,  
you're going to get killed. And I don't want you to be killed, that  
wouldn't be too nice -- now would it? And I'm gonna teach you not to do  
anything like this ever again. Oh, it'll be bad now, but buck up, kid!  
You've got your whole life ahead of you!"  
  
Genma's speech by this point was no longer the screaming, enraged  
insanity he had used before. Now, he used the cooing, friendly  
instability that people found so much more dangerous.  
  
"So, after you have your meal, you aren't done yet. Fourth, I am going  
to break your legs. Maybe just one of them, depending on how well you're  
doing. Then, last, me and my boy are going to leave. You can stay here.  
If you can get back to whatever hovel you crawled out from alive,  
that'll be great! You can just stay here of course -- always plenty of  
ash for you to eat -- but I don't think you want to be around here when  
the wanamingoes come by. They're attracted to screams. 'Course, if I  
hear you call for help, I'll kill you before they get the chance. You  
understand all of that, Dogshit? For your sake, I hope you do."  
  
The boy nodded and swallowed, the lump in his throat stopped halfway  
down by the spear over his neck.  
  
"Good. Now, come on, get up! Don't want to waste any time, now!"  
Genma lifted the weapon from the boy's throat and stepped off of his  
body. Trying to choke back sobs -- and failing -- the boy turned over.  
He rose on his arms, collapsed onto them, and abandoned all efforts to  
hold back his tears. He turne toward Genma, tears streaking down his  
ruddy face, looking for some word, some expression, some movement from  
the man to show that it's okay, you've done enough, you can stop now.  
  
Genma's face was stone and impassive.  
  
Dogshit -- Taro -- gulped and rose on his arms again, this time staying  
stable upon them. He stepped forward once, twice, then terror shook him  
and he collapsed once more. He thought he heard movement from behind him  
and rose once more without even looking back. He crawled forward, the  
palms of his hands pierced by the uneven and rocky soil. He finally  
pulled himself to the remains of the fire. He stopped a moment, shifted  
his weight to his left arm, reached out with his right. The ashes coated  
his hand the instant he touched them, a fine powder working into every  
crevice and wound on his palm, a dust inside the joints of his fingers,  
making grey lines where the skin folded. He held a small mound in his  
hand and looked back once more, expecting this time, this time, that he  
would be told he could stop. This was cruel. It was wicked. Nobody would  
do this. Certainly, the man would laugh a dark laugh and say that that  
was enough, that his point had been proven?  
  
"Eat up," Genma nodded. "Eat up if you want to grow up to be big and  
strong. If you ever want to grow up at all."  
  
Taro winced his eyes together first as reflex, then kept them shut so he  
couldn't see the meal in front of him. He opened wide and pulled the  
hand closer to his mouth. Simply bringing it closer had dried his mouth.  
  
Then, hoping to end it quickly, he stuffed the hateful mound into his  
open mouth all at once.  
  
The reaction was immediate and the taste horrific. Before he could even  
close his mouth, he had already spit out a good portion of it, choking,  
dying on its dryness. It devoured every speck of moisture in his mouth,  
in his entire body. He was sure he felt sand running through his veins.  
The grey powder coated every surface within his mouth. His tongue, his  
tonsils, his cheeks, all felt as if they had been turned to ash as well.  
He swallowed the hateful dust; first only a tiny amount. He tried to  
swallow again and gagged, spitting up another grey cloud. He fell over  
and rolled onto his back, then commenced coughing and choking as if he  
was seconds away from death. His eyes rolled back in his head, and the  
thought to look at Genma was far from his mind.  
  
Genma was ready to finish the encounter, and without a word walked to  
the prone, spasming form of the boy. He stepped on the boy's right leg  
to steady it as it jerked to and fro, then sat down upon the boy's knee.  
He placed one hand near the knee, one hand near the ankle, and pushed  
inward. The bone snapped with a mimimum of effort, and Genma stood up  
again. The boy tried to howl in pain, having forgotten any warning,  
admonition or danger after being consumed by agony, but no sound would  
escape the ashen tomb of his mouth.  
  
Genma grabbed his traveling pack from the ground and started walking in  
the direction he was set on at Jusenkyo; and Ranma soon followed. The  
son maintained silence until he thought they were out of the boy's  
earshot, then spoke up.  
  
"That was pretty vicious, Pops. He was just a kid."  
  
Genma's tone was pleasant and conversational, now that he no longer was  
trying to intimidate someone. "He'll live. Most likely. If he dies, it  
would be just as if he had ambushed a traveler not so forgiving as I.  
And if he survives, he will carry this lesson with him the rest of his  
life."  
  
"Yeah, but that's a hell of a way to teach someone a lesson, especially  
when they were just being young and foolish."  
  
"Mercy never hardened anyone," said Genma, and that was that.

They saw it days before they reached it; it was impossible to miss once  
they were nearby. The forest stopped as abruptly as if some artists had  
ceased to draw them into the Earth, and the nearly flat, white and grey  
plain stretched out into the horizon in mockery of all works, of all  
things. It was the corpse-city they had both heard of in their travels,  
and the place that they were told they would find a wise elder who could  
help them with their newfound encumbrances. It was Beijing. The legends  
said it was once a thriving city of thousands of thousands -- millions.  
Now the wind passing over it sounded like the last breath of a body  
lowered into his grave.  
  
Once they set foot upon the crushed, powdered reamins of the city, they  
had expected some form of welcome. They knew the elder was not alone  
here, and thought that whether or not the elder knew of their coming,  
that her guards would patrol around her home. They found no-one. Behind  
them were green matchsticks sticking up from the horizon. Ahead as far  
as the eye could see, the city was as flat as if the hand of some cruel  
God had reached from the heavens and pressed it down.  
  
Tired, they made camp for the day when they reached the outskirts. When  
they awoke, the sun had sunk below and they still had not been met by  
the guardians of this place. Ranma and Genma looked at each other,  
shrugged, and began their hike over shattered glass and molten metal, on  
to the horizon.


End file.
